An oasis of peace: a pioneering ministry creates a safe place for faith sharing and brings joy and hope to people with mental illness.

As participants welcome and greet each other warmly at the beginning of this afternoon's session of Faith and Fellowship, one of the group's members, Daniel Swoaks, remains visibly agitated. He corners me, the visiting reporter, with his burning question, "Are you going to hell, are you? Am I going to hell?" Not quite prepared for this test, I mumble something about how I sure hope we won't, but that we can't really know our ultimate destiny or the mind of God. Definitely not what Swoaks needed to hear. But Connie Rakitan comes to my rescue. With a soft but firm voice she reassures Swoaks that, of course, God loves him and that most definitely he won't go to hell.

That question settled, we take our seats around the tables in the upstairs meeting room of Lucienne House, the former convent of St. Catherine-St. Lucy Parish in Oak Park, Illinois, and begin some quiet activities of arts, crafts, and games. A dozen people have gathered for this afternoon's session of Faith and Fellowship, a pioneering ministry that for more than 20 years has been working to serve the pastoral needs of adults with serious, prolonged mental illness--people who struggle with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, major clinical depression, or personality disorders.

Led by Rakitan, the group's energetic director, Faith and Fellowship brings together volunteer "catechists" and their "partners" with mental illness--in today's group they are residents of Central Plaza, a nearby home for people with mental illness in Chicago's Austin neighborhood. The 55 catechists and partners in the five currently existing groups--three in Chicago/Oak Park and two in Saginaw, Michigan (an additional group in Washington, D.C. is currently being organized)--meet every other week.

The program, which Rakitan has developed and adapted from various other models of faith formation, consists of three components.

The quiet activities of the first part--called the "gathering"--are designed to "get people into a peaceful state," Rakitan explains. Today, with classical music playing in the background, Swoaks is drawing a seascape, while others are stenciling, coloring with crayons, painting with watercolors, stitching, or assembling puzzles. Conversations are held in a hushed library tone.

After a good half hour, the group moves down the hallway to the chapel for the second component. For the faith-sharing and worship session that follows, chairs are arranged in a circle. Everyone is welcomed by Sonny DeClass, a Divine Word seminarian who is this afternoon's session leader. The simple yet powerful format features songs, prayers, and a scripture reading and is centered around a tangible symbol, which is used to help people reflect on their own life experiences in the light of faith.

At one previous session a warm, cozy coat was used to get people to talk about their experiences of comfort and warm feelings; at another, exercise weights illustrated the strength and power faith can provide for people's lives. On today's brisk spring afternoon, DeClass uses a calendar photo of a park in springtime bloom to lead a reflection on the new life that springs from experiencing and extending forgiveness. The subsequent faith sharing and spontaneous praying in the circle is marked by candor, honesty, and a supportive atmosphere that allows both catechists and partners to talk openly about painful conflicts and continuing struggles.

"We break open our lives," says Rakitan, "and draw them into the light of faith."

Each session concludes with an agape meal and celebration. It features--to the great delight of the partners and the secret groans of the catechists--a rousing round of the children's song, "We're so glad that [insert name] is here today."

Rakitan says the church overall does a poor job addressing the needs of people with serious mental illness. With an estimated 13 million Catholics impacted by a mental disorder in any given year, pretty much every parish has families who are affected. Many of them approach clergy and other parish staff for help but find that few know how to respond.

For most people with serious mental illness, says Rakitan, "the church is not a place of welcome and support. It is instead just one more occasion for awkwardness, confusion, and isolation." With their faith and self-esteem already fragile, the church is usually "not a place of hope but a place of risk" and rejection.

Rakitan notes that even in terms of social services, the church often fails to respond. In her own archdiocese, Chicago, people with mental illness who have approached Catholic Charities have been told that the agency has nothing for them. "I suspect that's fairly typical," she says.

A recent Boston College study confirms Rakitan's experience. It found that only a very small number of Catholic dioceses actually sponsored any pastoral measures or social services for people with mental illness. The study has inspired a new pilot program that is set to develop model programs for people with severe mental illness in a half dozen dioceses and parishes.

Like many other people with mental illness, Grannison Mason finds regular church services with their crowds and loud music overwhelming. But when asked what he likes best about Faith and Fellowship, he doesn't hesitate. "It's a safe and welcoming place," he says. "I feel at peace when I'm here."

DAVID KAMBA is a photographer living in Chicago. MEINRAD SCHERER-EMUNDS is the executive editor of U.S. CATHOLIC. For more information on Faith and Fellowship, contact Connie Rakitan at 708-383-9276.